


Too Big To Fail

by knoxunderstreet



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Set in the 1980s, banker!Charlie Dalton, gays in positions of power? yes ma'am, i know too much about banks and fraud oops, lawyer!Knox Overstreet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxunderstreet/pseuds/knoxunderstreet
Summary: Charlie Dalton is the head of a major bank, that is, until it all comes crashing down when the market tanks. Charged with fraud and dealing with the repercussions of a failed business, he lawyers up.Knox Overstreet is a successful prosecutor who made a name for himself representing major corporations and seeking exoneration. One day, a case file comes across his desk with a name that's all too familiar.After years of distance, the two come back together.
Relationships: Charlie Dalton/Knox Overstreet
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Too Big To Fail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MMSL](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MMSL).



> For my twitter mutuals. Don't kill me for this.

The _click clack_ of high heels echoed across the marble floor of the hall. The steps were hasty and intentioned. The ridge of knuckles struck against the dark oak door. 

“Come in,” came the voice from within. 

She opened the door and at the desk sat a man, reclined in his wingback chair with his legs outstretched onto his desk. 

“Afternoon, Mary. What did you need?” 

“Mr. Dalton,” the woman squeaked out, “there are some men here to see you.” 

The tone of her voice sent shockwaves through him, forcing him to sit up straight. 

“Who are they?” He gulped. 

“They didn’t say, all they said was that they needed to speak with you. Immediately.” 

_Shit._

He raked his hands through his hair, and it fell back into his face. With a sigh, he waved his hand. 

“Send them in.” 

“Yes sir,” she spoke with a nod. The _click clack_ of her heels echoed away from his office, disappearing down the hall. Moments later, the light patter was replaced by the sound of several men stomping down to his door. 

They were cold and blunt. Charlie sat, numb. Just listening. The market had crashed and investigators from the state found his bank at fault. Something about mortgages and the housing crisis. All Charlie could remember were the words “fraud” and “jail”. One of them tossed a file onto his desk, it was filled with paperwork detailing all the claims against him and his bank. After the army of suited men left, Charlie opened the file. The papers within spilled out, forcing him to read them. They accused his establishment of falsifying records and taking advantage of homebuyers. This was the nail in his coffin. The business he had built from the ground up was being destroyed right before his very eyes. It was like sand slipping through his fingers, all he could do was watch as it fell apart. 

Page after page after page he went through, all of them filled with accusations of fraud and deceit. Until, within the damning paperwork, a business card fell out. 

It was like a beacon of hope shining as he fought against the raging tides which dared to drown him. 

_Overstreet & Sullivan_

Without a second thought he picked up the phone and dialed the number he saw.

***

“Good morning, Mr. Overstreet,” the office secretary beamed. She snapped her gum between her back teeth. 

“Good morning, Susie. Any messages for me?” 

“Oh yeah, there’s one for you. This fella seemed all sorts of shook up. He faxed over some documents; I’ve got the file on your desk for you already. Seems like you’ll have your hands full with this one.” 

Knox sighed; it was always something big. Perhaps this was the burden of being the lawyer who singlehandedly defended GM in court. It was a good burden to bear, but it was exhausting too. 

The phone rang, causing both of them to jolt. 

“Overstreet and Sullivan. How can I help you?” Susie dropped her informal city accent in favor of a song-like quality. 

Knox strained his ears to hear what was being said on the other line. 

“He just came in. I’ll transfer you right now,” she moved the phone away from her mouth, covering it with her hand, “that’s him! Quite a nervous man.” 

Knox trudged to his office, barely taking a beat to hang up his coat. He set down his briefcase on his desk and in the same swift movement picked up the phone. 

“This is Knox Overstreet," he spoke proudly.

“Knox. You’re not going to believe this. It’s Charlie. Dalton.”

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Charlie?!” Hearing his friend’s voice over the phone was like a punch to the gut. It had been years since they’d seen each other let alone spoken. After leaving Welton they had drifted apart, only occasionally exchanging informal pleasantries. Charlie had sent a card congratulating Knox after his first major case win and Knox had sent flowers and a bottle of champagne to celebrate the opening of Charlie’s bank. These gestures were all that they were capable of.

“Yeah. Yep, it’s me,” Knox swore he heard Charlie choking back tears, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. “I bet you weren’t expecting this.” 

“Jesus, Charlie. What happened?” Knox opened the file, seeing all the documents Charlie had faxed over. 

“I have no fucking clue. These men in suits came and dropped a bomb on my desk and left. They said... they said that my bank is responsible for the housing crash. Something about falsifying the records on applications and tricking people into thinking they were eligible for mortgages they couldn’t afford,” Charlie’s voice wavered, his normally confident-to-a-fault tone vanished completely. Hearing his friend this distraught broke Knox. 

“Knox, you have to believe me. I would never do anything like this.” 

“I believe you, Charlie.” 

“What do we do?” The desperation in his voice rang through Knox’s ears. 

“Charlie, listen to me. I’m going to take care of this, but I need you to take care of yourself. Meet me at my office tomorrow. We’ll spend all night working on this if we have to.” 

Knox could barely make out one of Charlie’s hushed cries. He could hear him sputter as he tried to keep tears from falling from his eyes. As he listened, tears of his own began to wet his cheek. 

“Thank you, Knox. I mean it,” Charlie choked out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow.” 

Knox collapsed into his leather desk chair as he hung up the phone. Reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, he pulled out a silver flask. He had been drinking ever since he was a teenager, but his alcohol dependency hadn’t taken shape until after he became a junior prosecutor. Early in his career he was forced to take case after case, spend sleepless nights in his office looking for something that could exonerate his client, and then hope to god that he did well enough to keep his job.

The whisky burned as it went down, but it made him numb. It dulled his senses just enough so he could focus on the work ahead of him without being too attached. He and Charlie were friends, but at this moment Charlie was nothing more than another client he had to represent. 

“Susie,” from the doorway of his office he called out to his secretary, “clear my schedule for tomorrow.” 

“Yes, sir,” her acrylic fingernails clacked along the keyboard, “take care of yourself, Mr. Overstreet. I know how you get sometimes.” 

“I’ll be fine, Susie,” he dismissed her, retreating back into his office and drawing the blinds shut. The accusations against Charlie and his bank were horrifying and nothing short of white-collar crime.There were endless records of families forced to declare bankruptcy because of the mortgages they were falsely led into taking and a paper trail that went on for miles of all the property foreclosed upon in the aftermath. Each instance played out the same way, but each was just as cruel. This was calculated and intentioned. This was cold and careless. Charlie couldn’t have done this. Sure, he was a jackass when they were at school, but he would never take advantage of someone so brazenly, especially knowing that it could possibly ruin that person’s life forever. This was someone looking to destroy an honest businessman. 

The minutes churned away, turning into hours. Lights in surrounding offices went out, coats were collected, and people filtered out to return to their families. But Knox stayed behind. In his time spent reading each victim’s account against Charlie, he had become more and more disheveled, now fully resembling what he’d looked like all throughout law school. A messy mop of hair, an untucked and wrinkled shirt with the top buttons undone, his tie untied just draped around his neck, and his cheeks flushed red with the aftereffects of alcohol. 

“Woah, you look like hell.” 

Knox looked up from the stack of papers strewn about his desk to see his law partner, Eric Sullivan, standing in the doorway. 

“Must be one hell of a case.” 

“It is.” 

“What is it this time? Tax evasion? Corporate espionage?” 

“Fraud.” 

“Well, that’s easy! Why are you so worked up about it?” 

“This isn’t a straightforward fraud case; this is the housing crisis.” 

“Oh shit,” Eric stood over Knox’s shoulder, looking at the mess of paperwork, “what are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to take the case.” 

“You’re insane.” 

Knox glared at his coworker, they had a friendly rivalry going on in the office that pushed them both to be better than the other, but recently it had gone too far. 

“What would you do?” 

“Well, if I were you, I would hand the case over to me.” 

“And why should I do that?” 

“Face it, Overstreet. You’re washed up. You might as well stick to being a fuddy-duddy corporate lawyer, representing whatever urchin of a business comes crawling your way. I’m the one who should be out there representing the big players,” his words dripped with venom. In his alcohol-fueled stupor, Knox rose from his seated position, bringing them both eye to eye and nose to nose. 

“You know what, Sullivan? You are as much of a prick now as you were in law school.” 

The smell of whisky violated the air, permeating Sullivan’s nostrils. 

“Drinking on the job? Tsk tsk, not very professional, is it?”

Knox planted both of his palms on the flat plane of Eric’s chest, forcefully pushing him away. Eric stumbled, catching himself on a bookshelf. 

“Fuck off! Besides, everyone knows you’re too busy rolling your face in a tray of coke to actually do your job.” 

Knox stood over the trembling man, catching a glimpse of his frightened expression. His eyes were blown out wide, reflecting Knox’s visage back at him. He was horrified of what he saw. 

_The spitting image of his father._

The phrase haunted him. All throughout his adolescence he heard those words, but he never wanted them to ring true. If they knew what his father had done behind closed doors, they would never ask for Knox to be a carbon copy of him. Or maybe they would. Maybe it was expected of a successful white-collar businessman to beat his children. Whatever the truth was, Knox didn’t want to be the one to continue that cruel cycle. 

Eric stood, distancing himself from Knox. He retreated back to the doorway but before leaving he hurled more threats towards his former friend. 

“You lose this case and you’re out of the firm. Mark my words, Overstreet.” 

He disappeared down the hall, exiting the office, leaving Knox alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter [@knoxunderstreet!](https://twitter.com/knoxunderstreet)


End file.
